


I Remain Galadriel

by fish_in_fridge



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 4th Age, Family Reunions, Gen, Reunion of Friends, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:44:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2054109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fish_in_fridge/pseuds/fish_in_fridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Middle-earth, Lady Galadriel decided at length that she would go into the West and remain Galadriel; in Aman, she remained true to her word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Galadriel

Hi everyone, this is my first piece of Silmarillion-based writing, or more accurately, the English translation of my first attempt at Silmarillion-based writing (in Chinese). The writing is inspired by the following line in bold, but I am not sure whether "I remain Galadriel" makes a good title for all the loosely connected chapters I have written or have planned to write. And I must apologize for my limited capability of writing in English (or my limited writing skills in general), but anyway, I am giving this piece a chance at this site.

Set in 4th Age Aman, starring a few characters both from _The Silmarillion_ and _The Lord of the Rings_.

Disclaimer: All that you recognize belongs to Prof. Tolkien. I am but fumbling with his creation. Mistakes are mine. Unbetaed.

* * *

 

**I pass the test. I will diminish and go into the West and remain Galadriel.**

(from "The Mirror of Galadriel", _The Fellowship of the Ring_ )

Under the trees of the Blessed Realm roamed a brother and a sister hand in hand, their golden hair simmering in the gentle light of a setting sun filtering through the branches and leaves. On their backs was white raiment of simple design. The brother was wearing a plain but beautiful mantle whose hem reached his ankles; apart from a gold ring in his right hand, the only ornament that adorned the Elf was an emerald brooch that held his collars together. The train of his sister's dress was softly touching the grassy earth, making no sound as it swept atop the evergreen grass. The siblings were obviously both in good humour: they were chatting quietly but heartily, each sentence accompanied by a smile.

They were Lord Findaráto and Lady Artanis, children of King Arafinwë of the Noldor. In private they called each other as Finrod and Galadriel.

"Now I think we had better turn back, Galadriel dear," said Finrod, pointing at the direction of the sun. "The feast starts at the fall of dusk; we don't want to be late."

"That's true. And obviously we are going to be late if we tarry here any longer," replied his sister. "We need time to change."

"My wife and children are meeting us at the bridge; and if I remember correctly, so are your daughter and her husband."

"They are." Galadriel smiled. "Then the group of us will march towards the court. That will be lots of fun," remarked Finrod, his eyes gleaming with expectation. They had already turned into the homeward direction.

"So it will. And the feast, too." Galadriel lowered her eyes and made a soft reply.

Finrod, nonetheless, noticed that his sister's smile had wavered and somewhat faded. A little concerned, he turned to Galadriel. "When you said the feast would be lots of fun, Galadriel, I think I should not take your word literally. What you really meant may as well be that there would be lots of fun that will not touch your heart, while some other fun that you desire most are not to be found tonight. You are missing your partner of old for the dance, isn't it?" He raised his hand and pressed hers slightly.

"It still grieves me to be away from him, even as my heart tells me that a reunion is close at hand," was her answer.

"And it grieves me to see you taste the grief I once lived. I remember well the day long, long ago, when I walked you to him and, on behalf of our mother, placed your hand into his; he who gives the fair name Galadriel to my fair sister. You have rarely left the side of one another from then on." As Finrod said, he removed his sight from his sister's face, looking straight ahead where lush trees blocked his long sight. "I can also tell that delighted as you are, delight is not the only feel that you have when you hear that name, for he who names you Galadriel is not here to address you."

Galadriel shook her head. It was difficult to tell if she was trying to shake away her brother's concern or her own sentiment.

"Nay, be glad. He has not yet lost his delight in his land across the sundering sea. He cherishes the days and Ages we spent together as much as I do. Yet it is the wont of Arda that each Elf shall taste his or her own grief. And mine comes sooner than his. It may be said that it was the grace of the Valar that permitted my return, yet it was my weariness that returned me here, the first home of mine and the last. Now my only regret lies in that this home does not house my beloved. Or not yet."

"Pray regret not, my sister. The waiting shall not be long."

"When I first left my birthplace, I thought of vast lands to rule at the will of my own. Then I met him and I came to realize that all I wanted was a home, a place where I could reside with him for good; my old one was denied to me, and his destroyed. As Galadriel I dwelt on the Middle-earth. As Galadriel I put forward my power to build up a kind of realm my heart desired. And as Galadriel I found that a failing endeavour, for I was seeking an unfading dwelling on a dying land. And now I am returned here."

"Returned here as Galadriel, for in such manner will I ever address you. Any who knows this name of yours beholds you as the Lady Galadriel they know." Finrod smiled. He extended his arm so that his sister would rest her hand upon it. His tone told her that he took every pride in her.

"You may be right, Finrod. I said to the Ring-bearer at my mirror that I would go into the West and remain Galadriel. And Galadriel I remain. Artanis was but one maiden among the many fair ladies of Tirion. Nerwen was young, proud, self-willed and inexperienced. Only Galadriel has seen how the shadows stretched across many fair lands; only Galadriel has lived both bliss and grief; only Galadriel sheds tears at both the taking and the giving of a life; and only Galadriel experiences reunion and separation at the same time. To tell the truth, I am finding it hard to live only as the Lady Artanis in my father's city. It appears that I can only be whole when I am truly Galadriel, and when I am standing beside the one who names me as such."

"Finrod understands that, my dear. We shall together await the ship that brings you your beloved one, for you are not the only one waiting for Celeborn. Our parents desires to meet the one they have heard so much about, and Celebrían is no less eager than your are for a family reunion. Speaking of whom, she has already shown up at the bridge."

By now Finrod had led Galadriel out of the woods, and onto a straight paved with marble. Therefore Celebrían was within their sight. Behind Celebrían stood Elrond, her husband, and at the end of the bridge were Amairë, her two daughters, sons-in-law and grandchildren.

"Hey, what a hasty group! Now, Finrod, we have to run all the way along the path."

With those words, she freed her hand from her brother's arm and grabbed his sleeve instead, so that to give herself a better position for a good run. Finrod, who had anticipated his sister's move, was well prepared for this, therefore he managed to make his long stride the same moment she made hers. Side by side they dashed, with the light of the last fruit of Laurelin softly caressing them from behind and the early evening illumination of the City of Tirion in their front. Caught in the light of both, their golden tresses were shining as though they were giving light of their own.

* * *

 

A/N: Findaráto is Finrod's father-name in Telerin form. Artanis is Galadriel's father name in Quanya from, and Nerwen her mother-name. Arafinwë is the father-name of Finarfin.

According to the passage "Laws and Customs among the Eldar" (published in HoME 10), the Eldar wear their wedding ring on the index finger of the right hand, therefore the gold ring Finrod wears is his wedding ring. It is not stated whether Finrod has married Amairë after his rebirth; I believe he has. Also, his daughters and grandchildren are my imagination; I just want him to be a dad~~

Also in "Laws and Customs among the Eldar" it is said that the father of the bridegroom and the mother of the bride hold the hands of the betrothed together by the end of an Elvish wedding ceremony; that's why Finrod says he placed Galadriel's hand in Celeborn's "on behalf of our mother", (though this is also entirely my imagination, for nowhere is it stated that Finrod was present at his sister's wedding.)

I know that the characterization of Finrod is flat in this chapter. I hope the next chapter will make some amend, for it is mostly dedicated to him. Wish you have enjoyed, though I have little confidence in that. Many thanks for your reading (and more for your review:-P)


	2. Finrod

Disclaimer: All that you recognize belongs to Prof. Tolkien. Mistakes are mine.

* * *

 

To Galadriel, her eldest brother appeared exactly the same Elf she always had in her memory. But not all people shared her view.

Their mother Eärwen, for instance, deemed her firstborn much altered. The first thing she experienced shortly after welcoming her reincarnated son home was surprise. She was surprised at how much like a little boy the widely praised Elven-prince had turned to be. "A little boy who always wants to have more fun from his outings, that is."

Findaráto did take a lot of outings, sometimes with his endeared Amairë and daughters (for he had married his sweetheart soon after his rebirth, and in the following two yeni came two girls), and sometimes alone. There were few places in Aman that he would refrain from a visit. For most of the times, he was content at taking his family out for a picnic, and King Arafinwë and his wife could find no reason to restrain their son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren with the luncheons and dinners in the palace. After all, the Royal House of the Noldor didn't give feasts on a daily basis.

The spots of Findaráto's picnics were usually picturesque places with the view of winding brooks and lush bushes. After finishing their food Findaráto would wade into the foaming waters under the splashing waterfall to teach his little girls how to swim, or would pluck little purplish blooms from the shoulder-high bushes so that Amairë could weave a pair of garlands for their beautiful daughters.

Yet the favourite destination of Findaráto's was the Isle of Númenórë. There he mostly visited on his own, for Amairë was never fond of travelling by water, and would only ride to see him goodbye on the quays of Alqualondë where her husband would board a swan ship to Tol Eressëa, and then transfer another vessel that would take him to Eldalondë, the Elven-harbour on the west of the Kingdom of Men.

For long years the people of Númenórë were pleased to see the renowned hero of the past Age to come from the legends of Middle-earth into their palaces, libraries or any place under a roof, and to find him no less knowledgeable and amiable than lore of old claimed him to be. Most beautiful was the music he made under the starlit sky by the fountains that echoed the enchanting melodies on the harp which the ancestors of the House of Bëor once heard and enjoyed in their half-dreams and the descendants of Bëor the Old always remembered. Nonetheless, it was among the human children that the great Elven-prince turned out as most popular. The children would invite Findaráto to the games they played, and be glad to see their Elf friend lose. He was also the one to rescue naughty children from thin branches when the little ones endeavoured too far in the trees for a trophy such as an egg. He was glad to see whatever frightened kid returned to the safety of the firm ground, while what the little boy or girl remembered most deeply was not the lesson he or she had learned from the experience, but the Elvish smile they saw on the lips of the golden-haired Elf.

News of such events would always find its way to the ears of the Queen of the Noldor to reinforce her belief that her eldest son had now turned a little too childlike for his true worth.

"Don't be childish, my lady. Findaráto will certainly show what you believe as his true worth in grave need. Just be glad that such need lies not in the Blessed Realm, or so I believe," said her husband, who was trying to reassure her, yet his word only brought her to a memory of grief.

And as time went on Findaráto found his new source of grief. He had perceived some hints of shadow on the land of the Kings of Men, and knew from his heart that the shadow would lengthen and bring evils to the Secondborn of Eru that he loved. Yet whatever he had seen he did not tell his family, and when the Eldar were no longer welcomed he quitted his Eastward voyages.

Yet Amairë, who knew his heart better than any, could tell that his heart was troubled without seeing the latent evil on the Mannish isle. And she asked him about his sorrow.

He studied her face for long before he made his answer. "Sorrow that may be, for my heart tells me that my friends in Númenorë are in face of grave danger. More grieving is that my heart warns me that this time I cannot aid them the way I did, but they had to make use of their own lore and wisdom to address their problems. There will be unrest on that land, with splits in friendship and loyalty. Now I grieve for those who stay faithful, and for those who heed the words of the messenger of the Dark."

"Pray tell me, Friend of Men, what shadow of darkness have you seen?"

"Nay, my love, that I shall not tell you. I do not wish to trouble your peace with a shadow that does not stretch to the Blessed Realm." Findaráto smiled a bittersweet smile before he wound his arm around Amairë's shoulders and whispered to her ear, "May I rather please your ear with a tale from Middle-earth that I heard from the House of Bëor of Old?"

This offer she accepted, though she had heard the tale before. For it was the wont of Findaráto to remould his experiences of old into tales pleasant to curious young ears, and to retell them as matters for fireside chats with his children and later the children of theirs. From his vivid narration did the Elves of the Blessed Realm come to know Dwarves and Men, but the shadows of the faraway lands he didn't bother to emphasize.

Therefore it was not easy, even for Findaráto, to hold a conversation with an Elven-lady who remembered only shadows and pains of the Misty Mountains east of the Sundering Sea.

It grieved him to find that this pain-struck lady was daughter of his sister, for despite he had never seen her before, her resemblance to his sister was clear enough to his eyes. Yet at the same time she was utterly different to Galadriel in some remarkable ways. For Finrod Felagund had never seen any Elf who was not moved at the beauty of the Valar's city and was more awe-struck than relieved at the idea of being present to the Powers. She would always hold her shawl tight against her thin body as though it would shield her against her phantom pains… The more he took notice of, the more resolved he was to help restore the sense of safety and peace in her mind.

Amairë and her daughters didn't hesitate to lend a hand to poor Celebrían, a matter which Estë, the Valie of Healing was most delighted at. The golden-haired family would take their silver-haired kinswoman to the Garden of Lórien once every other solar day, where Amairë would talk about the quiet life of Aman, and Finrod about his old days in Beleriand and many anecdotes of Númenor. Those were not topics that Celebrían was unfamiliar with, for much she had heard from her parents and husband about the First Age, and in the library of Imladris lied a handful of Númenorëan records that she would occasionally browse through. Yet from the lips of her uncle, Celebrían found a subtle yet powerful sense of comfort which took its root deep in her nearly broken heart.

The healing was slow, yet its effect was not to be denied. By the time Galadriel and Elrond landed on the shore of Aman, Celebrían had already resumed her old tranquil self, with an element of liveliness which was undoubtedly bestowed by her stay in the Blessed Realm. She would even give a detailed narration on the many journeys she had shared with her cousins, the way of her narration not unlike Finrod's.

That quite amazed Galadriel, though the mother would not show it in her face. Instead she made a face and said, "Glad to hear that you are enjoying your life here. I won't deny that I am envying you, especially the part about Finrod keeping you company. Honestly speaking, Finrod is a great teacher in many things, both good ones and not-so-good ones. For instance, he was quite the inventor of splashing water on the head of his fellow swimmers. I suffered gravely from his attacks when I was younger."

"Nana, was that true?" asked Celebrían with curiosity.

"Please, sister, stop sounding so much like our mother!" Finrod pulled his face at his naughtily blinking sister.

"All right, I will stop, since you have asked. What about I take my turn in the story telling for this evening? Your children and my child have told their stories, and it would be quite ungrateful of me if I do not reward your kindness with one tale or two that I know of."

Thus, mostly to Finrod and his wife and his descendants, she spoke of the holly of Eregion and the mellyrn of Lothlórien, the carven halls of the Dwarves and the snug holes of the Hobbits, the customs of the tree-dwelling Silvan folk east of the Misty Mountains and the regular gathering of the inhabitants of Imladris. She also spoke of the rocky passages and the snow covered ridges of Hithaeglir that Celebrían had not yet make mention of, but as Galadriel introduced the landscapes to her nieces and their children, the name which once haunted Galadriel's daughter so badly now appeared to exert little ill influence to the younger Elf's soul. As she closed her telling with the blossom of the descendant of the White Tree of Eldamar that sprouted in the soil of Gondor and the wedding that took place beneath it, she couldn't help smiling a somewhat strained smile. And all the others returned her smile.

Galadriel's tone was as calm as a clear summer night, yet in each syllable one could feel the power of her deep emotion; that was a power she shared, though unknowingly, with her brother. When her tale came to an end, Finrod and Galadriel had already both noticed the common characteristic of their voices which marked both their long lives and unfading memories, and the pride and love and sorrows they had experienced in those past tales.

Now they exchanged their feelings by the raised goblet of Finrod's and an answering hand raised by Galadriel (who happened to be holding nothing in her hands). For that moment no word was needed between them. To Galadriel, Finrod was exactly the same brother she had cherished in her memories for the past long Ages; and as her weariness and initial bewilderment at the bustling Tirion began to disappear, Finrod also found Galadriel the very same sister he remembered from the First Age.

* * *

 

A/N: It is said in both _The Silmarillion_ and _Unfinished Tales_ that the Eldar of Tol Eressëa visited the Isle of Númenor quite frequently, and for early centuries of the Second Age the friendship between the Elves and Men flourished. I think this makes Finrod's visits possible. (I know it is highly unlikely, though; the failure in preserving any records on Finrod's visits may be considered a strong evidence that he never paid any such visits.)

Eldalondë, literally "elf-haven", is a seaport on the western coast of Númenor where the Elves from Tol Eressëa would land on when they paid visits to the Kingdom of Númenor.

Yén (pl. yeni) is a Valian/Elvish counting unit of time, signifying the amount of time needed for the change or ageing of the world to become tangible to the Immortal. A yén is equal to 144 solar years. This time unit is mostly adopted in Aman. You may refer to "Myths Transformed" for more information on _yén_.

Finrod's daughters, and descendants of theirs, exist only in my imagination (and yours, if you share my idea).

Hope you have enjoyed this chapter:-)


	3. Mithrandir

Disclaimer: I own nothing. 

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Since his return from Middle-earth, Olórin the Maia has resumed his old life in Valinor, namely working with the Valar and communicating with the Eldar. Most of the time he would be found with Lord Manwe, Lady Varda and Lady Nienna, but the drawing rooms and farmlands of Elves of all clans and statuses were also the places he would frequent. It was true that the residents of the Blessed Realm were more than glad to have him and his renowned kindness back after the Maia’s absence over the past yeni, though whether all were glad at Olórin’s change over all these years remained questionable. Even though he often donned himself in the appearance of the Eldar of Valinor, Olórin’s long, deep, fruity laugh and occasional quick temper would speak volumes about the influence of the mortal land. And now, the laugh and the temper both received many rumours. 

“I can tell that Olórin’s laugh is quite Mannish. Very Mannish, I shall say,” remarked Finrod, with a chuckle. 

“And that’s very Gandalf,” replied Celebrían, “He might appear more Olórin when he was dealing with the Elves, especially when the Elves in question were my parents, my husband or Lord Cirdan; yet whenever he had dealings with Men, the Gandalf traits of Mithrandir would have the upper hand.” 

“I understand what you mean, my dear,” Finrod nodded at his niece’s explanation, though not without a slight hint of bewilderment in his look. “Yet, would that be the Gandalf side and the Mithrandir side of Olórin that you were speaking of?” 

“Nay, the Gandalf side and the Olórin side of Mithrandir; those are what I really meant when I spoke,” smiled Celebrían, though she didn’t venture to explain any further. And Finrod had to make do with that answer. 

~ o ~ O ~ o ~ 

Olórin’s kindness and helpfulness were not limited to those millennia old residents of Aman. Actually, it was the new immigrants to this vast Elvenhome who received more of those. That was basically the reason why he now sailed so often to Tol Eressëa where those who arrived from Middle-earth needed to dwell for a while before setting foot on Aman. And Olórin’s help and guidance started even before he returned to Valinor. 

As soon as all the passengers and crew of the white ship from Mithlond had disembarked, Olórin started on a useful briefing on the lands, time, climate and other noteworthy facts of the Blessed Realm, for by now the differences between the Immortal Lands and the ever-changing land of Middle-earth were already imposing their impact on most people’s feelings, and to those who were arriving there for the first time, the impact could be even stronger. 

“That’s very thoughtful of him. But I think I can take up this work, too; for surely there are many errands atop Taniquetil that demands Olórin’s endeavour even at this very moment,” commented Glorfindel, who was standing ashore watching the hobbits and the younger sailors of Cirdan attentively listening to Olórin’s word. 

“But my Lord Glorfindel, I should suppose that you know Mithrandir well enough to see that our friend is not going to miss a single minute in aiding those who need his aid,” said Galadriel, smiling at the back of the white-bearded Maia who was still robed in white. 

“Indeed,” agreed Glorfindel. “And I am pretty sure we will see more of him on this Isle, even though he is going to take a ship to Valinor this very evening.” 

“We will,” said Galadriel, “and we will see even more of him when we return to Eldamar.” 

The two great Elves exchanged a look before they exchanged a string of good-humoured chuckles as they walked further into the settlement on Tol Eressëa. 

~ o ~ O ~ o ~ 

And very often indeed did Galadriel meet Olórin in Valinor, mostly in the company of a group of regally dressed Elves. The Maia and the Elves would exchange both news and good will, the topics of their speech usually limited to the going-about within the realm of Aman. Nonetheless Galadriel didn’t see much of Olórin alone: the Elven-lady had many old friendships to renew and activities to attend, while the Maia had his own errands. 

So it could only be a chance meeting when Galadriel, from quite afar, caught the sight of an elderly-looking Olórin leading the Halfling Frodo Baggins along a rarely visited pebble path on the outskirt of Tirion. The Hobbit, though appearing somewhat less hale than he ought to be, managed to see Galadriel from behind a line of trees, and, on seeing her, he attempted a relaxed smile in spite of the paleness in his face. Galadriel, in response, beamed encouragingly at him and waived. Olórin, on the other hand, informed her via eye contact that he and the Hobbit were in hurry, and therefore Galadriel waived again and resumed her solitary walk. 

Later that day, Galadriel managed to spot Olórin sitting at the edge of a grand fountain. The Maia was still costumed in the old form he took when he walked the Middle-earth, with his long, bushy, grayish hair and sweeping beard all attached to his wrinkled face. A long staff was laid against his lap, and a lit pipe in his callous-covered hand. Galadriel eyed at him her inquiry before she took her seat beside him. 

“How is Frodo? He didn’t look his best when I saw him with you.” 

“No, certainly not at his best; troubled by his old wound, actually. No imminent danger, though. He is now in the Garden of Lórien, attended by Lady Este.” The Maia exhaled a puff of smoke. “Such wound as what Frodo Baggins is suffering from is under the devise of the Shadow; even in the Blessed Realm it should take time to heal.” 

“I see,” Galadriel nodded both her acknowledgement and her concern, “still I wish he will recover from the phantom Shadows soon enough; the sooner, the better. As the Ring-bear, Frodo has suffered too much more than what is his due.” 

At these words Olórin turned to face her, a broad smile across his face. 

“Yet I didn’t expect his suffering of old should inflict on him at this moment. It usually takes place in March and in early October, or so he says.” Then an idea struck her and the Lady Galadriel stuttered as she spoke it. “But… can it be… is it possible that it is already spring on the calendar of the other land?” 

“It is March indeed, my lady. And Bilbo and Frodo Baggins are still in the habit of counting dates according to the Shire Reckoning, so I can tell the very date of this day as the 14th of March,” Olórin chuckled at those words affectionately, which made Galadriel think that the Hobbits should really be brought here. She could even envision them to be seated right here in a pair of raised armchairs, opposite the wizard they called Gandalf. 

Yet soon enough, her thought returned to the passage of time. “So, am I now away from the Middle-earth for more than half a year?” 

“Half a Solar year, yes,” replied Olórin. 

“Well, it appears that I didn’t even notice it.” Galadriel looked down at her feet. 

“Apparently the many differences between the Middle-earth and this Undying Land are affecting you more profoundly than you think, and the matter of time is but one of them. The Children of Eru are, after all, created within Time; it is no wonder to me that the Eldar are under the influence of Time in a different and more deepgoing way than what we Ainur perceive.” 

“And what I feel as time in Aman is even different from what I managed to keep in Lothlórien with the power of Nenya. In some way I managed to turn the flow of Time into a resemblance of a recurrent rippling, yet even then my heart told me that it was an illusion: the land was ageing, and I was ageing. I, and my fellow dwellers of Lothlórien, just didn’t pay attention to that ageing often enough.” Somewhat wearily, Galadriel smiled at her recollection. The ring Nenya was still upon her finger. 

“I remember that you were much concerned with the flowing passage of time: you confessed your concerns and wishes, and your unquenched longing for those days when the World was yet young, to me during our first meeting under the trees of the Middle-earth.” By this time Olórin had stopped smoking his pipe; sitting up more erectly, he looked at the taller Galadriel in the eye and raised his salt-grey eyebrow. “Now tell me, my lady, are your concerns of old still affecting you the way it did?” 

“Nay, my friend. My concerns are gone, for now I am in a land where I literally feel that I am still young, and here the earth is thriving in its peace.” Galadriel smiled, taking in the peace she described. “The cities have changed greatly, no denying at this; yet I can easily recognize them as the places where I spent my youth. And here I sing and dance and join the various merry-making with renewed vigour of mine.” 

Nodding at Galadriel, Olórin returned her smile. “That’s really good. Not all those who return recollect their vigour of old as quickly as you do. The toil and sorrows that the Eldar taste on the land of Middle-earth are such a virtual influence upon them.” 

“Shall I say that they are a virtual influence upon the Maiar, too?” asked Galadriel in jest. “Are they a reason why, even on this day and on this land, you should remain the shape and characters of Gandalf the Wizard?” 

And it seemed at first that her jest missed its mark, for the wizard had sprung to his feet and was now waiving his pipe at the seated lady. “Yes and no. But now I am telling you, Galadriel, that I still have the quick temper of Gandalf, and at this moment Gandalf does not want to discuss on his unsightly look! Now do not try a wizard, for it is a trying business!” 

Galadriel simply shook her head, and she was still wearing her tranquil, discerning smile. And Olórin burst into his Gandalf-ish laugh. For feigning to lose his temper was his own jest to repay Galadriel’s jest, and the Elven-lady was wise enough to see his humour. 

“Quick temper does not suit you, Olórin; no matter how the Men, Dwarves and Halflings respond to its quick effects,” commented Galadriel. 

“Very well, Galadriel. Even you do not deny that it did have effects, especially to a few stubborn fools.” Now as he blinked at the lady (in a very Gandalf-ish manner), he had already refilled his pipe and lit it, and Lady Galadriel began watching him send one smoke ring after another into its waltz around the spray of the fountain. 

~ o ~ O ~ o ~ 

Why Olórin assumed that shape again on that day was another tale to tell, and it was Elrond who made the explanation. 

“Bilbo and Frodo invited Mithrandir and me to their new place tea the other day. Well, it was almost five months ago, actually. And it was not surprising that when we arrived, Bilbo thought I was bringing a fellow Elf to his hole, and he inquired the name of my companion. I would have told the Hobbit who this ‘Elf’ was, yet Mithrandir decided something more dramatic, as what Gandalf would do. He tugged at my sleeve, and all that I could do was to give the name Olórin. 

Frodo appeared that he had heard of that name, though. He looked up at my friend’s face for a long while, yet it didn’t help much at first. He didn’t ask for more introduction, either. The tea alone was distraction enough for his elder cousin, and he had to help. We all got seated and started our little talk over the tea and seed cakes. 

Soon enough, the elder Hobbit started complaining about the lateness of Galdalf. ‘Where is the Wizard now? It is not his wont to be so late…’ 

And our friend would have no more. He got to his feet and smiled an amiable yet inscrutable smile. I thought he was now going to introduce himself properly, but no, he simply asked for a pipe and some pipeweeds. 

And at this right moment Frodo exclaimed, ‘Dear old Gandalf!’ 

After all, if I guessed rightly, Frodo had already taken notice of many hints of Gandalf in the now Elvish face of Mithrandir. 

Yet Bilbo was not so easily convinced. ‘No, no, you shall not tease old Bilbo Baggins so badly. I know what that troublesome Wizard is like, and our kind Master Olórin is not at all that bad. And no. no, Frodo my lad, don’t give away our Old Toby so lavishly. We got only six chests of them down in our pantry, and I still need them to clear my mind…’ 

But he was late. For Frodo had already handed Mithrandir what he asked for. And now Mithrandir was sending a bunch of rings to bounce around the white-head Hobbit. ‘Well, my dear Bilbo,’ he said, ‘Do you see that your troublesome Wizard is here? For I am Gandalf, and Gandalf means…’ He puffed his pipe. ‘…me.’ 

But it would take so long to make Bilbo fully accept Mithrandir’s Elven appearance that Mithrandir decided to change into his old look. It worked very well with the Hobbits, who soon resumed their old selves and engaged themselves more lightly into the talk. 

But poor Mithrandir, he trapped on the door mat as the tea was over and we took our leave. He was still wearing his Elvish raiment, which no longer fit his now bent Wizard stature.” 

And as he said the last sentence, Elrond chuckled. He didn’t bother to tell how many glanced and gazed they had received as the he and the Maia rode back, for the scene was already well rumoured about. 

“Now our friend Olórin must be in the habit of taking the shape of Gandalf whenever he is having dealings with the Hobbits,” concluded Galadriel. 

“That’s true,” said Elrond. 

“Are you visiting the Hobbits soon? Will you kindly get a card for me the next time they invite people to their tea? For I also want a lively good chat with them.” 

“Well, you don’t need one, my lady. The Bagginses generally do not welcome unexpected visitors, but Elves are an exception – which means, they don’t decline any visitors here in Aman. And you can go straight to them tomorrow afternoon.” Elrond grinned at his mother-in-law. 

The next day Galadriel did what Elrond suggested, and rode down a delicate path to a tiny hillside near the Garden of Lórien where the Hobbits’ lodging lay. She walked deep into the lush garden where daisies, pansies and elanor bloomed, and pulled at the sturdy bell rope at a painted round wood door against the hill. The green door sprang open at the sound, and the Elven-lady in white bowed to move herself inside, and soon found her way to a drawing room where the ceiling was higher than those of the other chambers. It was already occupied. 

“Good day to you, Bilbo. Good day, Frodo, and Mithrandir…” She greeted the seated ones before she took a seat herself. 

And yes, at this moment she addressed the Maia as Mithrandir like her daughter and son-in-law so often did, for at this moment she saw again the kind, heartening messenger who had shared wisdom, courage and promises of hope with habitants of the Middle-earth in the direst moments of the Third Age. And this was a figure that all Elves who had lived the Third Age would forever cherish.

  


* * *

A/N: 

When I wrote the conversation between Galadriel and Olórin, I referred to a dialogue published in _Unfinished Tales_ where Olórin offered Galadriel the Elessar when Galadriel talked about her concerns about time, ageing and the mortal lands. Personally I prefer the 'Celebrimbor crafting the Elessar for Galadriel' tale (also seen in 'the Histories of Celeborn and Galadriel', _Unfinished Tales_ ), I believe the dialogue between Galadriel and Olórin to be canon. 

Frodo does remember the name Olórin. He has heard it from Faramir ('The Window on the West', _The Two Towers_ ) and from Gandalf himself ('The Quest of Erebor', _Unfinished Tales_ ), yet in my mind, Frodo may need some time to connect the Maia's name with the Elvish shape that the Maia has assumed.


	4. Frodo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: canonical character death.  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The Hobbits found their lives in the Blessed Land much to their liking. With the kind assistance that Elves had to offer, a new lodging was soon built for the Ring-bears at easy distance to the Garden of Lórien; though the construction process was more like the older Baggins babbling about his old snug Hobbit-hole, with his nephew completing his narration in a clearer and more succinct version which might occasionally contradict the uncle’s, leaving the Elves to figure out what they really wanted. And it was not smooth work at the beginning, for the Elves were not used to dig, build or furnish in sites that did not permit their full height. Nonetheless, within what seemed to the Hobbits as a surprisingly short span of time, the job was done, and done beautifully.

It was not as large as the Bag Eng in Hobbiton, of course, nor with so many pantries, bedrooms and other rooms for storage. “After all, there are only two of us,” said Bilbo and Frodo together as they exchanged a good-hunoured look.

Elvish hospitality remained long after the building of the new Hobbit-hole. From time to time those hunting Noldor and fishing Teleri would bestow on the Bagginses a remarkable share of their harvest, often neatly cut and well seasoned, so as to reduce the Hobbits’ labour in preparing meals. In the Hobbits’ wardrobes were hung shirts and tunics made of fine linen, and coats and waistcoats of blazing colours, all woven and embroidered by the dexterous fingers of Elf-maidens. Truly, it often appeared to Bilbo and Frodo that they were so much in debt to the kind species of Eldar that they could never ever return their favour enough, for the only things that the Hobbits could repay them were home-baked scones and home-made tea, and Bilbo’s often disjointed poetry.

Bilbo remained in love with his studies in Elvish poetry, and kept making compositions in imitation of such. Despite that he often dozed off in the middle of writing his own poems, and despite that now he had to struggle for poetic Sindarin expressions which he was once at such ease with, the pleasure he gained from reciting poems and hearing poems recited remained as it used to be. He never hid his own works away from whatever eager ears for songs and lays, and a popular saying went that the great Lord Eärendil himself much appreciated the Sindarin translation Bilbo made for his old songs once sung in Rivendell. Indeed the senior Hobbit offered to sing the one featuring Eärendil’s voyage in the Mariner’s presence during one visit at the parents of Elrond his close friend, and as he sang he forgot his lines so often that Lindir, who was also there that day, had to keep reminding Bilbo of his own lyrics.

Yet the old Hobbit’s days on the Immortal Land were few and short. He was already at the mercy of his age, and the sojourn in the Blessed Realm only served to ease the process of his further aging. He spent one Solar year, half leaning against Frodo’s arm, to visit all the places his legs would still bring him to, and in this way him gained great contentment in soul and mind. When he felt he had had enough joy as well as pain for his long Hobbit life, Bilbo Baggins passed away in his armchair in the only Hobbit-hole in Aman.

~ o ~ O ~ o ~

It had been quite a while for Frodo Baggins to take a first step out of his self-imposed seclusion at home after the burial of his dearest kinsman and friend. Even so, he didn’t mingle much with others, but took to going on solitary rides eastbound to the Havens of Swan, sailing to Tol Eressëa on whatever Elvish ship that willingly took him, and hiking on his own to the easternmost shores of the Lonely Isle. There he would quietly stay for one night or more, always rising at the break of dawn for a sight of the rising Sun. Then he would return quiet to the harbour, board a ship, land again on the Valinorian shores and finally down into his underpopulated home.

Yet not all journeys were made alone even if they were intended (albeit unintentionally intended) so. Olorin, again clad in the shape of an white-bearded elderly man in white raiment, would accompany him on occasions. And at his destination he often came across an Elven-lady dressed also in white, eyes fixed on the endless seas nearing the eastern horizon. She was the Lady Galadriel. Such coincidental encounters had lately become so frequent that Frodo had to doubt if these meetings were really chance meetings. Yet for many years the Elf and the Hobbit exchanged few words, and Frodo didn’t put his doubt in voice. It was quite obvious to him that the Lady didn’t welcome interruptions though she didn’t forbid them; that was much the same with Frodo’s own mood.

Therefore the only few things shared by the immortal Lady with golden hair and the aging Hobbit with whitening hair were a broad view of the coastal waters-cape, and the expression of reflection and longing that they wore as they gazed into such sight.

“I... I never expected that I would... would feel like this...” muttered Frodo, more to himself than to his companion.

“It is just natural to feel this way, when you are thinking of your homeland and your acquaintance of old,” came the reply from, what seemed to the Hobbit, quite a distance. Yet Frodo could feel a smile graced her lips as the Lady answered him, even if he did not see it.

“But not like _this_. Forgive me, my lady. I am feeling like I’m torn into two. I love this Elvish place. Never been a moment that I do not love it. So so much is provided on the Undying Lands, each the best of its kind. How can I not fall in love with the views, the food, the gardens, the tranquility and so so many wise friends that I have the luck to make? ... Yet, even so, I love the Shire and I can’t stop thinking of it. The nice Bag End, always a home to me; how many little mouths shall there be now awaiting the next delicious meal? And how many little pointed ears always sharp for papa’s bedtime stories? Well, no doubt the garden is still good, perhaps even better than before: Sam is there, and the land is blessed with your wonderful gift, my lady! Also I am wondering about Merry and Pippin: do they still fashion themselves in the outfits of Rohan and Gondor as they walked the lanes of the Shire? Not that it is bad, though... And dear old Strider, well, he is King now. Must be living in Minas Tirith for the moment. But he would sometime ride to the North if he could be spared, right? Wondering if he still enjoys old Butterbur’s beer... Oh, and now it is the season for strawberries and cream! You see, my lady, I still well remember the seasons of the Shire... The strawberries of the Shire are just most delicious; second to mushrooms, though. And as I have said, I have never had a single bite of mushrooms ever since I landed here...” At this, the slightly wrinkled face of the Hobbit went crimson as though he were but a naughty youngster anticipating a severe punishment from his mother.

“It... it doesn’t feel right to think this way... I mean, my lady, after all this is the Blessed Realm, and it was the grace of the Divine One that granted me permission to reach and stay here. I ought to be grateful, to so many... to everyone, actually. I owe my thanks to old Bilbo who adopted me and first taught me about Valinor and everything; without him I would even stay ignorant of such a divine place! And then there is old Gandalf, and Strider, and so many others, and so much they have given me and taught me... I should be glad, and grateful, I always think. But now, whenever the thought came to me that I would never see so many of my dear friends again, and I would never again trot on the Hill and the Water of my homeland, and here I am the only one of my kind... I just... can’t help feeling bitter.” He reached for his handkerchief, which soon he held fast in his hand but never wiped away the tears in his eyes.

Lady Galadriel looked at the Hobbit for a long while, and as she looked her smile faded. At length she began to walk to Frodo, and as she moved she said, “I understand your feeling, my friend. For separation from family and friends is indeed, and always shall be, of such bitterness, were it not simply grief. And the bitterness cannot be undone as long as separation lasts. Books and food and merry-making, whatever it be, could only serve as a distraction, and bring some solace at times. But still bitterness lasts, which I can tell you with certainty.”

“Yet you Eldar can wait. You have your endless time to wait for the bliss of reunion. And you are already at home, my lady, while I am still feeling I am tarrying on a foreign land. And I won’t see any of my mortal friends save Sam...” Frodo bent his head into his hands, not realizing his palms would do as little as his handkerchief had done to ease the flow of his tears.

Galadriel was soon on her knees beside Frodo, her face tilted downwards toward the weeping Halfling.

“Samwise Gamgee will come. And Frodo, it is not just you who is waiting. I have a feeling that perchance we are both awaiting the next ship from the Straight Path. Then I shall reunite with my beloved husband, and you, your friend.”

“Would that be a long waiting, my lady?” Watery blue eyes shot up at the kind female face.

“Nay, my friend. Methink Celeborn the Wise should be kind enough to take into consideration the urgency of your case, and fix upon a date most befitting for both him and Samwise Gamgee. He has also tasted, and is still tasting, the bitterness of separation, after all.”

“Ah, so you think Lord Celeborn’s voyage would be soon?”

“As long as he wants to show pity for his anxious wife, it would.” Galadriel gave the answer that she truly believed in.

Bowing even lower, she reached out to help the Hobbit back to his feet. Then, his hand in hers, she walked with him back to the nearby town on the Isle. Their ship was to depart for Aman in the morrow.

This was the twelfth meeting of Frodo Baggins and Lady Galadriel on the easternmost shores of Tol Eressëa.

 

* * *

 

Author's apologies:

I haven't been updating for a while. Actually the Chinese version was completed three weeks ago, yet for the past weeks I couldn't spare myself from the preparations for my flight to US and my accommodation and studies in US. And now eventually the opportunity comes when I could translate my fanfiction into English before my courses and assignments become too pressing. Hence Chapter 4.

And for reasons obvious enough I didn't manage to carry my J.R.R.T. paperbacks on my flight. Now I must rely on digital versions (which show no page numbers) and my own memory for footnotes. Please correct me if I am wrong.

Note on mushroom: In HoME 10 Nienna said that rotting (as unnatural in Valinor) had not yet taken place in the Blessed Realm while the Valar were debating over the case of Míriel's death (another notion thought unnatural in Valinor). Therefore I take it that unless being introduced forcefully be Melkor, rotting does not take place on its own in Aman. And mushrooms as fungi, which grow on the rotting of others, do not prosper in Aman. Sorry for Frodo  (T^T)


	5. Epilogue

They all knew when the ship would arrive: Elvish sight might perceive its coming several days ahead, and what was more, Elven hearts that were close to the voyagers would foretell their coming far ahead of time. Thus they were well prepared for it when Círdan’s last ship closed its distance to the havens. Many important people, Maiar, Eldar and Hobbit, were gathered on the docks in their most beautiful clothing, their eyes drawn to the spot of whiteness amid the blue sea. The spot grew in size, taking the shape of a lively swan, and eventually of a swan-ship. It approached the docks, halted and anchored itself. A ladder was pulled down to enable disembarkation.

The first passenger who came out of the ship appeared to care little for the grand reception. He was a short stout men, with greying curly hair and big furry feet. His eyes were simply fixed on the only other man matching his height, and as he rushed down the ladders, he already made his running direction clear. And that elderly man, who had been standing on the right of Lord Elrond and clutching at his hand for support, made his fast yet not-so-steady strides towards the newcomer as soon as he came into his sight. They fell into each other’s arms, and no one chastised the newcomer for not greeting those regally-robed divine beings, lords and ladies or other important figures first.

For they were important in their own right. They were Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee, the Ring-bearers, the Halflings who saved the world when no one else could. And they were Hobbits, and Hobbits always greeted one another in their own fashion. In their fashion friends came first.

“Mr. Frodo!” It was a deep, clear voice, befitting a down-to-earth figure that a gardener like Sam Gamgee had to be.

“Sam, my dear lad Sam, dearest of all my friends...” replied another voice, not as clear, yet steady all the same. Time had left its mark on the aged Hobbit, reducing some bits of his features and enhancing some other bits.

And a dialogue as simple as such was enough to bring other important people to tears.

And at the very moment, at the middle of the ladder, two other figures, much taller than the former pair, shared another embrace as breath-taking as the first one. For the Lady Artanis, daughter of King Arafinwë of the Noldor, most renowned for her flawless beauty and elegance in these years, had dashed up the ladder to the ship, her flowing sleeves and the long train of her white dress billowing behind her. A hooded figure held her up, his arms locking fast around her waist. And as he did so his hood fell, revealing him as Lord Celeborn, husband of the Lady Artanis, though he addressed her as Galadriel.

“O, here you come, eventually.” Eventually both drew back from their embrace, and Galadriel reached out her hand to smooth the many ruffles in her husband’s travelling cloak.

“Aye, as you wish, my sweet Lady Galadriel.”

“Your sweet Galadriel indeed am I. For whatever lands do I walk, I remain Galadriel, the lady my love beheld as fair and bestowed a fair name on.”

“And I still behold my lady as fair, and ever fair she shall remain in this fairest Elven realm.”

After another short, yet firm, embrace, the time-honoured couple walked down the ladders shoulder by shoulder, responding to whatever greetings and cheers others had to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes the last chapter is short, but this really is all of it. Thanks for reading. Hope you have enjoyed :D


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